


Not Exactly Chapter 45, But....

by KeeperLavellan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Lord of Snatchsters, Oral Sex, PWP, Rial you perv, Shameless Smut, Solas you weirdo, role play, wtf these tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3770851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeeperLavellan/pseuds/KeeperLavellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After killing the snowy wyvern and traveling to Orlais with Vivienne, Solas and Lavellan spend some time in Val Royeaux, which ever and always brings out a love for The Game in our Lord of Tricksters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Exactly Chapter 45, But....

**Author's Note:**

  * For [froobie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/froobie/gifts).



Solas led me onto the balcony where servants had laid out our supper, and I plucked up a glass of wine as I looked beyond the gilded railing to where Val Royeaux spread out before us. It would be a few days before Vivienne had everything settled in the wake of Bastien’s death, so we’d settled down at a hôtel in the capital to wait instead of crossing the Waking Sea without her.

However much I doubted the sincerity of our friendship, since I was loathe to leave anyone alone after such a loss, she’d insisted we at least make a holiday of it. So we’d spent the day hunting down obscure tomes from the city’s antique book dealers, turning up such a trove that we’d had to have it all crated up and sent to the docks.

By morning Gaspard would have heard that the Inquisitor had arrived, and protocol would demand that I visit the Imperial Palace to pay my respects. Solas had once again offered to play the role of my servant, refusing to even acknowledge that I found the very idea repugnant.

“Absolutely not. Orlesian elves are mistrustful enough of the Dalish as it is, the last thing I need is for them to see me with a fl— a barefaced servant. I will take you as my equal or not at all.”

“Then tell me, vhenan,” he said, putting the city to his back and sitting lightly on the rail, “What would you do should Gaspard wish to pursue this…friendship you’ve proposed?”

I laughed in surprise, “I proposed nothing but an alliance.”

“And your _enthusiastic_ support, as I recall.”

I took a sip of wine and regarded him over the rim of the glass. There was something fierce in his gaze that I couldn’t quite place. Not jealousy, but…

“In his bid for the throne,” I reminded him. “Isn’t that how The Game is played, with half veiled innuendos and implications?”

“Ah, yes. And you excelled on both counts.”

I snorted at his feigned accusation and set my glass on the table so that I could wrap my arms around his neck. Instead, he brushed me aside and stood to bring his full height to bear, forcing me to tip my chin up to meet his gaze.

“How did you put it in Halamshiral?” he asked sharply.

“Put what?”

“Your high hopes for Gaspard.”

“I wished for our success in The Game.”

“You forget that I was there, vhenan,” he said, stroking the back of one finger along the edge of my jaw. “Tell me exactly. How. You said it.”

“That I hoped…” The words stuck in my throat.

I thought of how Gaspard led me through the gardens, winding through the crowd to an isolated corner where we stood leaning against an ivy-covered wall. I thought of Solas in some window above, watching as a shemlen hand slid around my waist, as shemlen eyes skimmed across the tops of my breasts, as shemlen ears listened to me say…

I slipped back into the moment, remembering it exactly, “I hope we can play well together.”

Solas laid his hand on my waist exactly as Gaspard had done, then tilted his head and dropped his eyes to the cleavage afforded by the silly Orlesian dress he’d found for me.

“That’s not _how_ you said it.”

My heart skipped a beat when I finally understood the little game within The Game he wanted to play. I began again, sliding one hand up to his shoulder and letting the words rumble as low as I’d spoken them in Halamshiral.

“I hope we can play well together, my lord.”

His eyes suddenly seemed so much darker than their stormy blue. “There’s not a man in Thedas who could hear those words coming from that mouth without wanting to hear you beg his name.”

“Solas!”

“No,” he said, stepping close enough that I took an instinctive step back. “That doesn’t sound like begging at all.”

It stole my breath away, and the silverware rattled sharply when the curve of my ass bumped against the edge of the primly set table, but he didn’t stop. He kept pressing forward, until dishes were crashing behind me as I bent beneath him, my hands scrambling back for support.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

My mind raced to meet the demand, but I could think of nothing but the sharp tone of his voice and the way he could twist me up from the inside out without ever touching me at all.

“What would you do,” he said, bending low enough to nip my ear, “if this is what Gaspard wants when he has you alone?”

I pushed him firmly away, “My lord, we can’t.”

Solas brought his other hand to rest on the curve of my neck, one thumb stroking cool condensation from his wine glass across the vallaslin at my throat.

“Oh, but we can.”

He caught me in a kiss, haughty and entitled in a way I’d never known him to be. I slid my tongue across his before I could stop myself, before I could remember that he wasn’t supposed to be _Solas._ He began nudging my thighs apart with his knee, and I reeled back to slap him hard enough to leave my palm stinging.

His eyes flashed and then he lunged, flattening me across the table. “So this is how the Dalish treat their friends?”

“Tel’falon,” I spat, drawing my knees up between us to shove him back.

He was relentless though, twisting suddenly so that the weight of him forced my legs open, and he bucked once to drive that point home. In another swift motion, he jerked the bodice of my gown low enough to expose my breasts and then palmed one with lazy self-satisfaction. I couldn’t help but groan, and he pinched until my nipple hardened, tugged until I was arcing against him.

“Helpless little elf.”

I loosed a mind blast that should have sent him reeling but for his own barrier.

“Now you’re cheating,” I laughed. “He’s not a mage.”

“No, he’s not. Nor could he ever have you as I’m about to.”

Solas threw himself into the nearest chair, pulling me into his lap and raking the dishes to the floor in a single swipe. Perhaps a human girl would’ve flinched, but I reveled in defiling everything the shemlen nobles held so dear.

I caught his bare face between my hands, biting the little scar on his chin, kissing his mouth as I would for Solas and no one else. He wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted to set me on the table before him, one hand between my breasts to push me flat on my back.

I let my head thump against the wooden table, and above me the night sky swam with stars. His fingertips trailed from my ankles to my hips as he gathered my skirts up around my waist, and I thought: what an easy thing for anyone in the High Quarter to wander out on their balcony to see us.

Solas pulled me closer to the edge of the table, settling my bare feet onto the arms of his chair. I offered no resistance when he spread my thighs, but I smiled to see how he raised one eyebrow the way some noble lord might peruse a menu.

“How very Dalish,” he murmured in reference to my lack of small clothes.

“I’m very Dalish,” I agreed, reaching down to stroke the smooth skin of his scalp.

He laid a nearly chaste kiss between my legs, using neither tongue nor mana, then rested his cheek against my thigh. For a moment that dark thing inside him bubbled up to the surface.

“Your people hate me.”

I gently pinched his earlobe. “Is the love of one Dalish not enough?”

“Far more than I deserve.”

With that, he bent his bareface to kiss my cunt once more, this time letting his tongue delve deep and kneading along both sides with his thumbs before spreading the folds of skin apart. I shuddered into his rhythmic lapping, the steady slide from bottom to top and the sweet shock of surprise whenever he dipped inside.

I canted my hips down to try and angle my clit towards his tongue, but he avoided it completely, sucking on each of my lips in turn. The sky grew darker as he continued to devour me, eyes closed and ears brushing against my inner thighs. He had one hand splayed out across my belly, his thumb rubbing just far enough above my clit to mute the motion, and the other…

My eyes fluttered open to see the steady jerking of his shoulder and I knew he was stroking himself under the table. Fuck. I began rolling my hips with the same motion, teasing out just the extra friction I needed from his thumb.

“Solas,” I panted. “Oh, Creators, fuck. By the Dread Wolf, I’m—”

He stopped suddenly, leveling me with a look so fierce it flipped my stomach. “I swear to every god that you hold dear, if you come before I’m through with you the Dread Wolf’s _wrath_ will be the least of your concern.”

For a moment I couldn’t even exhale, then the need to come was so sharp not even fear of the Wolf could stop me. Oh, but to think there was something more he required of me. For that I could focus beyond the tension coiling up in my belly, beyond the trembling muscles that curled me forward, beyond the silken heat of his tongue.

Fuck, gods, no, I couldn’t.

“Solas….”

I felt the immediate vibration of a low hum, the beginnings of a laugh. “What was that?”

“Solas, please.”

With excruciating slowness, he dragged his hand down from my stomach to slide one finger, then another, inside. He plunged in and out even as his fingers curled in slow waves, beckoning me to come though he’d not allow it. I clenched around his fingers, grateful for the sense of fullness yet desperate to replace the friction he denied me.

“I could feast on you for years,” he breathed into my cunt.

“Solas, please,” I whispered, thinking of his obsession with what I’d said to Gaspard. “My lord.”

With that he caught my clit between his lips, gently suckling with exacting slowness. I grabbed at the edge of the table and watched helplessly at the motion that told me he was still thrusting into his own fist. Creators, fuck, it was inevitable now.

“Solas, ma’lath, please.”

“Hmmm?”

“Please, my lord, ma’Solas.”

“Not yet,” he growled between sloppy kisses. “Don’t you dare. I forbid it.”

In that instant, he flattened his tongue against my clit even as his mana sparked in mine, both a rolling force that seemed to bend the weight of the world around me. He locked his eyes wickedly on mine, never releasing me with his mouth as I spasmed and clenched around his squirming fingers.

I cried out incoherently as I came, my thighs clamping around him so tightly I felt certain he hadn’t heard me anyway. I slumped down to the table by degrees, boneless and spent. Solas reclined back into his chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin as if he’d just finished the dinner we’d utterly wasted, then tossing it on the table beside me.

“Emma da’hellathen,” he chided, stroking a finger across my tightly curled toes.

Then he stood up between my legs, pumping into his own hand with hypnotic determination. A slow smile spread across his features as he surveyed me spread out before him, legs open, tits out, exposed to the world and completely satisfied. His hand began moving infinitesimally faster, and even with his breeches parted only slightly I could see his balls tightening.

I felt suddenly, inexplicably greedy for him.

“Don’t waste it.”

“Oh? And where would you like it?”

He was still so new to me that I wanted him everywhere that I could take him, yet with the night sky above us I didn’t want to stop _watching_ him out in the open. The unselfconscious way he met his own need, the unconcealed power in every stroke, the raw passion he wore on his bare face, each a hidden facet of the quiet mage who revealed his nature to no one else.

“All over me.”

His hand went perfectly still. “Rial.”

Feeling completely debauched in the middle of our ruined shemlen supper, I could only grin. 

“Please, my lord.”

Solas pulled off his tunic, the wolf bone amulet a slash of dark against his pale chest. He climbed atop me and lingered in a kiss until I thought he might push in between my legs instead; but then he rose up on his knees and began stroking the wonderful thickness of his erection once more. 

When I brushed at him with my mana he shook his head once. “Just this. Only this.”

I gripped his thighs, and a frantic edged of need quickened his pace. He clenched his jaw but never took his eyes off mine, even as his quiet groans turned into guttural cries, even as he came in long, lazy splashes that landed hot across my chest, my face, my mouth, stirring up another wave of wildness in my core.

He sank down to rest on my hips, shaking and spent, then pitched forward to loom over me, one hand on either side of my head. He said something in elven I was too embarrassed to admit I didn’t understand, but so perfectly _Solas_ in its lilting, melancholy tone that I didn’t feel as if I’d missed anything at all.

He watched intently as I tasted the saltiness he'd left for me, then reached back to pick up the napkin he’d previously tossed aside. His eyes softened to the palest powder blue, and he gently wiped at my skin until every inch was clean.

**Author's Note:**

> After musing about the mind numbing sadness that is Apotheosis, it was suggested that I write some sexy time flashback centering around oral sex. So here I am. Is it just me, or was Gaspard a flirty bastard in Halamshiral? Gods, I love that guy.
> 
> Set immediately after slaying the snowy wyvern in chapter 50, aka [It was a Game,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2760119/chapters/7126037) and heavily referencing Rial's dialogue with Gaspard in chapter 37, [Wicked Hearts.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2760119/chapters/6855176)


End file.
